Sunday, June 26, 2016

The Boardwalk Pavilion

It's Summertime!

Let me introduce you
to my favorite place at the Jersey shore...
Ocean Grove

Photo credit:


This glorious summer Sunday morning—

We’re drawn eastward
from north, south and west
by the magnetic pull
of God’s love-force

Drawn, to the old wooden pavilion
to the Atlantic, the Jersey shore
to the boards at God’s Square Mile—
Ocean Grove. Drawn

wearing khaki and denim
tees and tanks
sundresses, flip-flops
carrying water bottles
carrying Bibles
fanning ourselves
with song sheets

We fill the benches
then spill over
into the periphery
onto folding chairs, lawn chairs
beach blankets. Some stand
Some look for shade

It’s 80-plus and breezy
The sky, clear
The sea glistens
Waves slap the shore
merrily. We’re merry

Vacationers stroll past
Some peer; some stop
some smile; some don’t
Bikers pedal by
joggers jog

Hymnsong; guitar-strum
Son-smiles; praise dance
heart-moves; Kidz church

Agape flows outward

Sea mist rises like incense
upward, Heavenward
toward the One

We bask in the warmth
of His smile

of His warm, sunshiny love

Maude Carolan Pych

Sunday, June 19, 2016

A Poem About My Father

Happy Father's Day, Daddys!
God bless you all!

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The following poem is about my own father...

In memory of Frank H. Walsh ~ 1912-1985

I went to see The King’s Speech
the other night
This started me thinking about my father
who became a stutterer
as a result of nervousness derived
from his childhood battle
with crippling poliomyelitis

With child eyes
I never saw him crippled
though he walked with a pronounced limp
one leg being shorter than the other
He wore a heavy soled shoe
reinforced with steel with a metal brace
attached that extended up to his knee

I didn’t think of him as a stutterer either
though he had great difficulty
saying what he wanted to say
stammering over, over and over
trying to get the words to spring
from his tangled tongue

To me, he was just Dad
…ordinary Dad

Looking back now, I think of him
as incredibly tenacious
a “can-do” kind of father
…even an overcomer

Handicaps never seemed
to handicapped him
never kept him from doing
anything he set his mind to—

He wasn’t a builder, but
he built the house we grew up in
and a bungalow next door for Grandma
did all the plumbing, electrical work
installed the drywall, spackled, painted
built porches, set the sidewalks
climbed a ladder to the roof
He built a patio with an outdoor fireplace
and a cement wading pool, too
He erected a coop for chickens
which he raised from fertilized eggs
He slaughtered them
mom cleaned and we ate them
for Sunday dinner
He also plowed the backyard
and planted a big vegetable garden

You name it, he did it
and usually did it well

He sang “Heart of My Heart” and
“You Can Have Her, I Don’t Want Her,
She’s Too Fat for Me”
without any stammer at all
danced to a rollicking “Beer Barrel” polka
with his heavy shoe thumping the floor
and I’m told he even pedaled
his bike once, all the way up Skyline Drive

Dad took us on vacations every summer
usually tent camping at Bear Mountain
or the Adirondacks or Truro at Cape Cod
setting up camp and cots mostly himself

He built outboard motor boats,
Water Lily and Water Lily II
and a blue egg-shaped camper trailer
which he hitched to the back of our car

He brewed root beer
bottled it and we drank it
even though it was flat and fizz-less
and he brewed beer beer
I can still remember the smell
of it fermenting in a huge crock
in our spare room

To say he was remarkable
seems an understatement—
I only hope some of the stuff he was made of
has worked its way into the bones and marrow
into the blood and sinews
into the gray that matters
into our Walsh family genes

Maude Carolan Pych

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

It's all about...the Lamb, Vol. 19, Issue 2

June 15, 2016
Vol. 19, Issue 2

It’s all about…the Lamb

Maude Carolan Pych/Quarterly Poetry Letter

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches
and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.” Rev 5:12 NASB

It’s all about…the Lamb is a quarterly publication for followers of Yeshua/Jesus, the Holy Lamb of God, and people who enjoy poetry. The purpose is to magnify our Lord and Savior and inspire an ever-deepening relationship with Him, the lover of our souls.

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Let’s Celebrate the Lamb
in Poetry

I began writing inspirational poetry, seriously, in the late 1980s. I read, studied, and experimented with writing styles, trying to find my voice.

Shortly after marrying Leo Carolan, in 1991, I was sitting at my desk at work at Kearfott in Wayne, NJ, one Friday afternoon, when a vision of a Lamb, crucified,  momentarily flashed before my eyes. It was a cocoa colored lamb and its sad dark eyes penetrated me. I knew at that moment I would write a poem about the Lamb upon a cross.

That evening, Leo and I went to the Shabbat service at Beth Israel Messianic Center, then in Garfield, NJ. I began talking with a woman I knew, named Elaine.
I complimented her on a piece of unique jewelry that she was wearing. It was a gold Star of David with a realistic platinum lamb affixed over it. She wore it on a chain around her neck. Elaine explained that she had the piece custom made. The Star had a wood-grain design, which represented the cross to her. There it was, for the second time that day, the lamb upon a cross. I immediately knew my poem would begin with lambs being slain in Exodus.

Writing that poem was particularly significant because I strongly felt God’s hand upon me as I wrote. When the draft was finished, I prepared to show it to Leo to get his opinion. I prayed first and asked God to give me grace to accept any criticism he might offer without becoming overly sensitive. He asked me to read it  to him. As I read aloud, there was one word I suddenly realize needed to be changed. I waited for Leo’s input. He said he liked it a lot, but there was just one word he recommended I change. Praise the Lord for the amazing grace He gives. I consider this poem to be my miracle poem. It is titled, “The Lamb”.

I will also share, “Blessed at the Mount of Beatitudes” and “His Little Lamb”.

+++ The Poems Follow +++


O look upon the innocent
the unblemished lamb, slain at twilight
as God decreed through Moses
See its blood upon the doorposts, upon the lintel
The Israelites consume it along with bitter herbs
reminiscent of affliction
They eat hurriedly, prepared for departure
loins girded, sandals on their feet
staff in hand, the lamb within
Look upon the foreshadows
see their hazy shapes coming into focus—
It’s the Passover of the Lord

God struck His mighty hand against Egypt
and the firstborn of man and livestock were slain
As God looked upon the lamb’s blood
on the doorposts, on the lintels
He passed over the Israelite dwellings
and delivered His chosen—
saved by the blood of the Lamb
Look upon the foreshadows
see their hazy shapes coming into focus—
It’s the Passover, the Holy Passover of the Lord

O look upon the Innocent, the Unblemished One
the Lamb upon the Cross
slain in unison with the other lambs at Passover
See the crimson Blood trickling down
the thorn-crowned Face
streaming from His hands and feet
See the iron spikes, the gaping stripes
the Suffering Servant
Oh! Look into the Face of the Lamb
the Atonement for all sin
It’s the Passion, the Holy Passion of the Lord

The Redemptive Lambs
meet in the foreshadows
Their shapes come into focus—
They are One

The precious Blood of the Lamb upon the Cross
redeems the world—

We are saved by the Blood of the Lamb
It is finished. Alleluia!

O look upon the glorious One
the Lamb standing as if slain
Hear the multitudes proclaim—

Worthy is the Lamb Who was slain
to receive power and wealth
and wisdom and strength
and honor and glory and praise!

...To Him who sits on the throne
and to the Lamb, be praise and honor
and glory and power for ever and ever![1]


Maude Carolan

Israel Pilgrimage—1986

At the Mount of Beatitudes
Wayne[2] suggests we each find
a quiet spot to spend
time alone with God

so I stroll along a pathway
surrounding the church
built in the name of
the Lord’s great message
to the multitudes

In a few moments I hear baa baaing
and follow the sound to the top of a hill
with sheep and a shepherd in view below

I sit on a low stone wall
to watch and carefully listen
for the voice of my Shepherd
amid plaintive bleating
I, too, am one of His sheep
I, too, have things to tell him
and don’t want to miss
anything He might have to say

This is communion—
a lamb with her Shepherd

I bask awhile in sweet serenity
aware of a holy presence
as the sheep graze
and the shepherd, like Jesus
carefully tends his flock

Afterward, we pilgrims come together—
No one else heard the sheep
No one saw the shepherd

The interlude was for me alone
a gift from my God—
a simple blessing
to one little lamb He loves

Maude Carolan Pych


The Shepherd loves you, little lamb
He holds you to His breast
He strokes His hand along your back
with utmost tenderness

The hand He runs along your back
is scarred from long ago—
A nail pierced it upon a Cross
because He loves you so

You are the lamb in Jesus’ arms
safe in His loving care
Because He gave His life for you
you may ever nestle there

Maude Carolan Pych

Image credit:

Comments are always welcome and appreciated. If possible, please post them directly to the website. Thank you.

Look for the next edition of It’s all about…the Lamb, September 15, 2016. In the meantime, I update my blog at least once a week, so visit the website often at:


Dear Reader/Subscriber,

Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. John 1:29 NAS

God be with ewe!

After God’s Own Heart Publishing
P.O. Box 2211, Woodland Park, NJ 07424

[1] Rev. 5:12-13 (N.I.V.)
[2] Wayne Monbleau—Pilgrimage leader and host of “Let’s Talk About Jesus” radio program.

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Celebrating Birth & Re-birth

This week I celebrate two birthdays. On June 3rd, I celebrated the day I was born. It was my day to blow out candles and eat cake. June 6th is the 37th anniversary of the day I was born again and filled with the Spirit. The poem I am posting here today is about that life changing re-birth, my very own personal Pentecost.

In remembrance of Pentecost 1979—
The Upper Room Charismatic Prayer Group at the Parish Center,
St. Catherine of Bologna RC Church, Ringwood, NJ—
Father Matthew Gaskin, pastor

Here I am, Lord
at the podium in The Upper Room
reading my poems again

The Upper Room—
room of my second birth
where thirty-five years ago
after questioning Your existence
and the meaning of life
the truth of the Gospel became real to me—

Yes, it was here, in this very place
that Father Matthew delivered the prayer
for those of us who desired to be Born Again
and filled with the Holy Spirit—
a birth both spiritual and virginal
from the Seed of God alone
a prayer that changed our lives
completely and forevermore

There was no primal cry at our rebirth
but exultant cries of “Hallelujah!”
and Pentecostal utterances
No amniotic fluid
but streams of Living Water
and Second Chapter of Acts tongues of fire
that we couldn’t see with our eyes
but knew in the realm of the Spirit
were blazing above our heads

In a wonderful and mysterious way
that night and this room was reflective
of another Pentecost; another upper room
another descent of the Spirit—
somewhere in Jerusalem, 2000 years ago

We became new creations that night
like those believers of old—
burning with Light
that has not grown dim

Maude Carolan Pych